


The Problem With Casual Attire

by unadulteratedstorycollector



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cocks and joggers, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 05:04:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12204435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadulteratedstorycollector/pseuds/unadulteratedstorycollector
Summary: Draco turns up to the pub wearing jogging bottoms. And it is NOT ok.





	The Problem With Casual Attire

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the cocks and joggers fest. This one is for everyone on the Drarry Discord that inspired cocks and joggers and got involved. You are great! Thanks to Writcraft fro the speedy beta. Any mistakes remaining are mine.

Harry can't take his eyes off Draco. Not that that in itself is unusual. Draco is undeniably fit, his blonde hair falling into his eyes, his lazy smile, his effortless arrogance. The fact that he's grown into a genuine, compassionate man. No, Harry is used to being unable to take his eyes off Draco. What's unusual about this specific time is the reason why he can't take his eyes off Draco. 

Draco Malfoy is wearing jogging bottoms.

“What the fuck have you got on your legs?” Ron shouts across the beer garden where they're sitting, snapping Harry from his stupor. Draco’s mouth crooks at the corner and he saunters over to the table, folding himself on a chair with ease.

“I didn't realise you were suddenly so interested in fashion, Ron,” Draco drawls, plucking the pint from Harry's hand and taking a sip, “unless, of course, you're just very interested in my legs.” His eyes sparkle and he shoots Harry a wink. Harry stomach twists pleasantly and his mouth goes dry. Draco shouldn’t be allowed to wink at him. It makes it very hard. Life. Not his cock. Fuck.

“You do have very interesting legs,” Ron grins back at Draco and Harry scowls. It’s not fair that Ron finds it so easy with Draco. Their families hate each other. They shouldn’t be able to be such close friends. Except… well, there are things about Ron’s life that Harry will just never understand that Draco sort of does. They’ve bonded over mutual moaning about pure-blood traditions.

“Those are disgusting,” Blaise snips as he comes to the table, his eyes stuck on Draco’s legs. Fuck it. It seems they’re talking about the jogging bottoms. And Draco’s legs. Draco’s long, slender legs. With all those defined muscles and, fuck, the solidity of his fucking thighs. Harry crosses one leg over the other, willing his cock to go down. At least he’s wearing jeans. His cock is painfully squashed, but at least it’s not as obvious as… well.

“I think you’ll find that these are deliciously comfortable, and incredibly fashionable.” Draco sips at Harry’s pint, his lips pink and shining. Harry coughs and goes to take a drink. Right. Harry doesn’t have a pint. Because Draco is currently drinking it. Draco smirks at him and slides Harry’s pint towards him. Harry grabs at it, gulping it down without thought. Why did he have to wear jogging bottoms? Not that jogging bottoms are intrinsically sexy. But on Draco? Fuck, Draco could wear a plastic bag and looks gorgeous. Images float into Harry’s head and his cock twitches with interest.

They’re just so… loose. And the way the cotton clings to the curve of Draco’s arse, sitting obscenely low on his hips, is distracting! And that’s just the back. The way he’s sitting, one knee resting higher than the other, shows off a very definite bulge at the front. A very definite, very large bulge. It wouldn’t be as bad if he wasn’t wearing a very tight black t-shirt and fucking flip-flops with it. He has no right to look so casual. It just hammers home how much Harry wants him casually in his bed. Or on his sofa. Or in his kitchen. Just living casually in his home. Shit.

“What do you think, Harry?” Ron asks, jogging Harry from his stupor. Harry’s brain goes fuzzy and he stares at the other men, his eyes wide. Fuck. What were they saying? He opens his mouth like a fish and Draco grins at him, his eyes darkening, his long, beautiful fingers wrapping around Harry’s glass again. Definitely not a good idea to think of Draco’s fingers wrapped around… well, anything. Ron digs him in the side and he whips his head back to his best friend. Ron stares at him for a second before rolling his eyes, “do you agree that Draco should only wear smart trousers, like a proper Malfoy, or do you like the jogging bottoms?”

“Uh…” Harry stutters, the blush burning his cheeks and neck and, fuck, even his chest, and Ron groans quietly before turning back to the other two. Harry can feel Draco’s eyes on him, the conversation washing over him as he tries to think of anything but Draco wearing trousers. Or wearing nothing. Fuck. Not working. His pants are getting horribly damp from pre-come and his trousers are unbearably tight. Nope. He’s going to have to do something about it. He stands, hoping that no one can see the outline of his cock pressed against his jeans, and gestures to the toilet. The others wave at him, clearly talking about something else.

He weaves through the crowd to the toilet as fast as he can when each step has his trousers brushing against his cock in an excruciating reminder that he’s hard. A couple of people smile at him, and he tries to smile back. Although judging by the looks they give him it might be more of a grimace. Crashing into the bathroom, he stumbles into a stall, slamming his back against it and tugging his trousers and pants down. He whimpers as his cock springs free, and his hand is instantly on it, moving in a blur.

“Potter, open the door,” Draco’s voice startles him and he stops, frozen to the spot. An irritated cough on the other side of the door has him spinning round, dragging his pants back up, his eyes wide as Draco slides into the stall. Draco smirks at him, predatory and sexy as fuck, and moves closer to Harry, aiming a locking spell on the door. “Well, what do we have here?” Draco looks down at where Harry’s boxers are tented. 

“Nothing! I… uh…” Harry’s voice is grossly cracked and he cringes. Why can’t he be cool? Why is he so… bumbling? He glances up at Draco and freezes. Draco’s eyes are dark, filled with lust and very white teeth are biting at his lower lip.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Draco growls, sliding his fingers into the waistband of Harry’s pants and sliding them down. Harry gasps, his head swirling and his fingers numb. This can’t actually be happening. This isn’t real. It can’t be. Draco moves closer, his heat enveloping Harry, the heavy cinnamon smell of him making Harry’s knees weak. Draco’s hand wraps around Harry’s cock and he lazily strokes it, his nose nuzzling against Harry’s as jolts of pleasure run through him.

“Draco?” Harry says, wincing at the question of it and Draco answers with a kiss. His lips are soft against Harry’s, insistent as they open, taking Harry’s with them. Harry’s hands move to run through Draco’s hair, pulling him closer, their tongues twining together. Moaning into Draco’s mouth, Harry relaxes into him, feeling his hard muscles against Harry’s chest, his hand still fisting at Harry’s cock. He tastes like Christmas. Why does he taste so fucking good?

Draco’s hand leaves his cock and he mewls embarrassingly. Draco smiles against his mouth, one arm wrapping around Harry’s waist and pressing him close so that Harry’s cock is trapped between them. And then something shifts at their hips and suddenly the hot weight of Draco’s cock is pressed against his own. It torturously erotic and Harry can’t stop his hips jerking forward. Draco wiggles his hand between them, keeping them impossibly close, and wraps his fingers around them both. His hand moves quickly, his thumb running over their heads on the up stroke, his tongue dancing against Harry’s, and Harry can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t focus on anything that isn’t Draco. Draco’s hand. Draco’s nose pressing against his. Draco’s chest. Draco’s cock. Draco.

His toes curl as tension builds and his balls tighten. Draco moans into his mouth, something that sounds like his name, and he comes between them, hot spunk spilling onto their t-shirts. Draco pulls away, panting, their foreheads pressed together, his eyes boring into Harry’s and Harry clings to him. Draco smiles a second before bliss sweeps across his face and he comes, his eyes clenching and those teeth biting at his lips again. He’s fucking beautiful even when he comes. Life isn’t fair.

They stand for a moment, breathing into each other, wrapped together. Shit. What did they just do? How could he have done that with Draco? Any minute now and Draco will realise what he’s done and walk out of Harry’s life in disgust. Although… he was the one to jump Harry in the toilet. And he did kiss Harry first. Maybe… maybe he wanted this too? Maybe…

“Well, now that we’ve established you like me in the jogging bottoms, how about we explore how much you like me without them?” Draco mutters against Harry’s lips. Harry grins, unable to speak, and nods. “Well good.” Draco pulls away, casting a quick cleaning charm over them and unlocking the door. He holds out his hand and Harry looks down at it, dazed. Draco sighs, rolling his eyes and takes Harry’s hand, dragging him from the toilet and draping his arm around Harry’s shoulders.

“Um… Draco?” Harry stammers.

“If I’d known that wearing jogging bottoms was the way to finally get us together, I would have worn them much sooner,” Draco interrupts him as they make their way back to their table, “oh well. We’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

“We will?” Harry’s eyes open wide and Draco smiles down at him, pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s head.

“Of course. I foresee a lot of jogging bottoms in our future.”

Well. Thank fuck for that.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are seen, read and loved! Thanks for reading


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